


The Dance

by farevenasdecidedtouse



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/pseuds/farevenasdecidedtouse
Summary: Nohecharis training takes a variety of turns.





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beshelarwantsahug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beshelarwantsahug/gifts).



The dance they practice this evening— _force lunge step parry turn step force_ —one that that Beshelar has insisted on practicing at the least once a week since their appointment, has been danced by generations of nohecharei before them with the turf gouges and cratered wallstones to prove it. Following a skillful evasion of the last bolt of force from Cala's outstretched hands, Beshelar swipes ever so slightly too wide with his wooden sword. Cala sends the blow swinging far afield with a minimal redirection of the momentum, the energy of their struggle singing through his blood like sunlight. He returns a bolt designed to sting slightly as it hits, ears twitching with satisfaction as it strikes home. At this, Beshelar feints left, then drives mercilessly forward, forcing Cala to retreat toward the wall nearest the low window.

The courtyard is a small annex to what is now the nohecharis quarters, built two centuries back as the private garden of an archduke more interested in gardening than courtly pastimes. The walls are high, the surrounding windows few and the shaded garden beds along each wall contain nothing but hard-packed earth save for some few larger trees near the doors to the heavily-shuttered sleeping quarters. The carpet of grass that now softens the once-carefully-kept gravel paths provides a perfect space for the exercise often rendered difficult by a sedentary life in the Alcethmeret. For Cala, at least, the thought of such exertion is occasionally less than welcome following the often tedious and surprisingly taxing work of a nohecharis, but the aftermath of such exertion—whatever form it may take—is invariably welcome.

Beshelar feints forward once more in an attempt to pin Cala against the perpendicular wall.This time, however, Cala is ready, darting to the side with a feint of his own and an underhanded bolt to Beshelar's ribs which connects hard enough to provoke a forceful huff of breath. Even winded and surprised, though, Beshelar simply retools his approach like a chess player faced with an inconvenient but not unexpected move, and aims a straightforward kick at Cala's shin.

Cala leaps backward before a low sweep of Beshelar's blade sends him diving back still further from the shot, aimed toward the point surest to send Cala sprawling at a solid hit. Cala steps back hard, seeing the beginning of Beshelar’s dive toward him before sending one final bolt into Beshelar's wrist. The sword falls to the flattened grass but Beshelar nonetheless pins him, the two of them breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes until Cala takes the inevitable initiative and kisses him.

Beshelar’s mouth crushes against Cala’s with ardor that only increases as Cala parts Beshelar's lips eagerly with his tongue. Despite Cala's surety that Beshelar would happily address him in nothing but formal language even in bed, would keep his hair knotted and his uniform as much in place as the activities would allow, beneath this lies his desperate, grasping _want_ that hones Cala's own desire to a fever pitch. Cala pulls back after a few moments although the surrounding windows are dark and, for the most part, open on empty rooms. Even through the desire that rushes through him with every stroke of his pounding heart, he knows, as does Beshelar, that tempting the court’s disapproval courts disaster even for First Nohecharei. He fights the temptation to nip sharply at a certain spot near Beshelar’s collarbone, to twine his legs around Beshelar’s waist, and settles for raking one hand through Beshelar’s disheveled topknot to finally spill the silver fall of his hair around broad, muscled shoulders before rising to stumble back through the door of their quarters.

Once inside, Cala hastily slams the door before pressing Beshelar into it to resume the kiss. Their lips part only for brief intervals as they discard their clothes, Beshelar attempting to toss each item onto the foot of his bed even as Cala's hands rake their way along his bared chest and arms, drawing Beshelar's own hands up to map the bony angles of his body. His queue has come undone and Beshelar twists his fingers into the cornsilk-colored skeins of it until Cala gasps into his open mouth. Their tongues press together in a blaze of wet heat, hands on each other's backs, thighs, cocks, exploring and relishing as eagerly this time as their first.

Even through the haze of desire, their time together has granted them the luxury of enough familiarity for little preparation for the enjoyment of each other. It takes but few minutes of fumbling in the in the chest of drawers, some few more of bony fingers between Beshelar's legs, until Beshelar is pressed face-first into the door with Cala inside him, effort-flushed face buried in the crook of Beshelar's neck. The chill, serene starlight that touches the floor through a gap in the heavy curtains provides a stark contrast to the the rough panting and slap of flesh on flesh, the arch of Beshelar's sweat-slick back against Cala's chest. _Please,_ Beshelar groans, _please,_ and Cala cannot but acquiesce, fucking into the other half of himself for all he is worth. Accustomed as they both are to life in dormitory and barracks they both speak little, every ‘ _ah’_ or ‘ _harder’_ wrung from Beshelar’s lips a small triumph as Cala presses his teeth to a certain spot at the base of his neck, as he reaches forward to stroke the heavy length of Beshelar's shaft.

In Cala’s arms Beshelar sweats and writhes and bucks against him, bracing himself against the door with a strength erotic in its rawness, whether used to hold Cala down for his own pleasure or controlled with nothing more than the force of Cala's own will. The thought enflames him like spark to tinder and he redoubles his attentions to Beshelar's cock until with a low, filthy groan of satisfaction Beshelar's seed courses over Cala’s hand. Allowing him no reprieve even as his gasps turn ragged and sated, Cala follows suit a handful of thrusts later, burying himself in the gasping wreck of his partner until his vision blurs and his legs tremble beneath him.

“Come to bed,” Beshelar instructs moments later, once they can both breathe and think once more. Stepping from under Cala's arm he cleans himself briefly of dust, seed and sweat at the ewer near the door, dons his nightclothes, and lowers himself into his narrow bed under the window. Too tired and sated to argue for the merits of reading late into the night, Cala follows suit before stretching out beside him.

“Hast a bed of thine own,” Beshelar observes.

“This one suits my purposes far better,” Cala says, pausing as he feels Beshelar tense against him. “What is’t?”

Beshelar shakes his head. He remains silent for so long that Cala has begun to nod when he hears Beshelar say, “At times, nohecharei have taken vows of celibacy to ensure their sole devotion to the Ethuverazhid Zhas.”

"If feel'st the absence of our lord so keenly at these times," Cala replies, entirely deadpan, "perhaps we might invite him to join us on the next occasion."

"Know'st full well what I mean, maza," Beshelar replies, lips curving upward clearly in spite of himself.

“Firstly, there is contention among scholars as to whether such vows were not simply the first iteration of prohibitions on marriage." Cala raises himself onto one arm, not daring to touch but unwilling not to look. “And secondly, I cannot find it in myself to believe that a nohecharis, deprived of any such release, would truly perform his office better.” Beshelar says nothing, eliciting a sigh from Cala. “Deret, if wouldst truly end this, needst only say.”

“I fear myself too weak for any such thing.” The words are said with the flat affect of complete sincerity, Beshelar’s gaze fixed on the rough timbers of the ceiling.

“We compensate for each other's weaknesses as do all nohecharei,” Cala says with a shrug. "In any case, love can bring strength as well as weakness, even love shared. Especially love shared There are books' worth of writing on the subjects of bonds of all sorts between soldiers—why should the forging of those bonds between two such protectors bound together for life not be the more intense, and the more encouraged?”

“Poetic fancy,” Beshelar muttered, but the tense lines around his eyes ease and he relaxes into the curve of Cala's arm.

"Thou know'st we speak the truth. Now sleep." Weariness pleasantly fogging his mind, aching pleasantly from the dances of swords and of love alike, Cala draws close to Beshelar and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you _so_ much to my two betas, HypotheticalWoman and Prinzenhasserin.


End file.
